


happiness is an allegory

by areyoumarriedriver



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melody Malone.</p><p>Her heart leaps into her throat when she realizes just who Melody Malone is. She has to physically put the book down in order to indulge a brief fit of tears because – because spoilers.</p><p>She has never had this adventure with the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	happiness is an allegory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tisziny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisziny/gifts).



> I may - ~may~ - do a sequel. I haven't decided yet.

**_happiness is an allegory_ **

It takes her a while to discover it. It’s hardly her fault – searching for the Doctor in every book ever written is a bit of a task – more than she thought it would be. She’d looked in all the places she’d know he’d be at first – mostly her own dissertations and books, adventures she knew had been written down.

Everywhere and everywhen.

It’s almost a form of sweet torture – to enter the stories, to interact with him but always know it isn’t truly _him_. There is always something a bit _off_ when others write the Doctor – they do not know, or understand his history. But even a shoddy facsimile is better than nothing, River thinks, as she loses herself in book after book – fiction and historical texts, research and dissertations, news articles and gossip rags.

But then-

But then Trenzalore happens and it feels like _goodbye,_ so she hides from him for a while afterward. She doesn’t look for him, doesn’t seek him out, instead she hides alone in her corner of the database – ignoring everyone and losing herself in the memories of her diary.

It was just that part of her – some small corner of her soul -- had always considered this a temporary glitch. A blip in her pathway, because of course he wouldn’t just _leave_ her here, would he? Not her Doctor – the one who knows her, inside and out – he would know that this wasn’t what she wanted.

But-

But he _would_ be capable of ignoring that in favour of the knowledge that she lived on in some form. She wants to be angry with him for it – and she is at first, but it fades quickly as she realizes. He carries so much irrevocable grief with him everywhere already – lives lost, people he can never, ever make things up to. She doesn’t want to be like them – one more soul to grieve – one more regret weighing his soul down.

So no, she cannot bring herself to be angry about it, despite realizing after Trenzalore that there is no imminent rescue. One day, she thinks, she will discuss it with Charlotte. Let him think she is still here and exit quietly – he won’t know any better, she assures herself. He can live on without the guilt, and she can stop waiting.

She stumbles across it by accident really – rifling through books in the noir fiction section. As far from him as she could get, or so she thought. When she picks the book up (she always reads them before deciding if she should enter them or not. Best to go in armed with all the knowledge she can) the cover looks familiar – the low fedora, the smirking mouth, the trench coat cinched around the heroine’s tiny waist.

Melody Malone.

Her heart leaps into her throat when she realizes just who Melody Malone is. She has to physically put the book down in order to indulge a brief fit of tears because – because _spoilers_.

She has never had this adventure with the Doctor.

Which means – perhaps all hope wasn’t lost. He must save her – or she must save herself, right? She almost puts the book down then and waits. She can’t change the future once she’s read it – but then again it’s a story, and how she writes it (because she has so obviously written it, it _bleeds_ off the page) could change, right? It is in no one’s control but her own.

By the end – by the afterword – tears are running down her face. Of course she’d resigned herself to never seeing her parents again after she’d died. She stares at the novel in shock, her fingers gripping it tightly until the binding tears a bit and she throws it across the room, feeling a rage swell within her. The irony of her talking the Doctor through a similar reaction in the book is not lost on her as she screams at thin air, feeling helplessness swell within her breast.

“No, not helpless – not this time,” she mutters as she stares at the discarded novel. She blinks as an eerie sense of calm falls over her. “I can change this. I _will_ change this,” she whispers as she thinks.

“I have to.”

~*~*~*~

She tries everything.

She makes Rory run when he first arrives. But the Doctor cannot reach them without coordinates, and the angels find Rory anyway – they know he’s been sent back.

She tries to grab him, abandon New York to its fate and take Rory back to the future. She succeeds then, and she and the Doctor have a huge fight about rescuing New York. He insists and she tells him exactly why they _cannot_ go back there. What do spoilers matter in a book? None of this is _real_. She is preparing.

“This wouldn’t work,” the Doctor insists as he sits next to her on the stairs. Amy and Rory had gone to sleep, after making her promise she would go nowhere.

“Why not?” She asks indifferently and he turns to her, his eyes haunted. She knows why not, she does. He’s always been the better half of them, though he claims it is just barely most days.

“River,” he says softly, taking her hand in his and she sniffles, looking down at their hands. It is not real. But god it _feels_ real. “An endless supply of energy in New York – they wouldn’t just stop there. They’ll spread. And then take over everything – your parents would be born to die.”

“We’re all born to die, Doctor,” she insists tiredly and he reaches out, his hand hovering over her hair as he sighs.

“Not like this.”

“I have to fix it,” she insists again, and his hand tightens around hers.

“You read it River. You know the rules.”

“I have to fix it,” she repeats.

“At what cost?” his voice shakes, weighed down with his own shock and grief and she shrugs, her shoulders jerking sharply.

“Does it matter?”

“Of _course_ it matters River. They wouldn’t want millions to suffer so that they don’t, and you _know_ that.”

“What if…” River pauses here, and looks away from him. She cannot watch his face as she says this, “what if just _one_ person suffers?” If she takes Rory’s place – in the future, in New York. If _she_ gets sent back instead –

“ _No_ ,” his hand tightens on hers as he pulls her closer. “I wouldn’t – River don’t.  You _can’t_.”

“I can’t lose them,” she insists. “ _You_ can’t lose them.”

“I can’t lose _you_ ,” he counters and she huffs out a sigh.

“You already have, and have recovered sweetie. How is this any different?”

“Because I kept you _safe_ then. And I clearly saved you, because this is after the Library for you,” he insists earnestly. River glances away, not wanting to revisit the topic – when she’d revealed it to him earlier, it had sparked an argument about spoilers, his concern warring with his elation at the news. “Don’t – River – I couldn’t, do you understand? I survive their loss – you’ve met older versions of me – you _know_ that. I lose them all eventually – and there are worse ways, I suppose. But _you_ – River… surely you understand the difference? You’re not like them – any of them. You’re not a companion, or a friend, you’re my _wife_ , my partner, my equal. I can’t save you knowing I’m sending you to a permanent death. I won’t.” His face is so earnest and she sighs once more, turning to look at him.

“Would the _real_ you make the same choice? You’re just an echo,” she points out, trying not to choke on the irony of repeating those words to him.

“ _You_ wrote me, River. I’m as close to the genuine article as is possible, no one knows me as well as you do. He would make the same choice – I know it.”

They are arguing in circles now, and River shrugs him off. He can’t know, because it’s not up to him.

It’s up to her.

~*~*~*~

She tries taking Rory’s place, getting sent back, having them appear to rescue her when there is no rescue in sight. Her stomach clenches as she stands on the roof’s edge, the Doctor behind her, clutching her hand. “You _can’t_ do this, River! This isn’t how you die – I _know_ -”

“Because I die in a Library? Saving you?” Her voice shakes and he scrambles up on to the ledge next to her, his hands clutching at her as horror and elation war on his face.

“ _No_ ,” he breathes the word out in the still air between them, his fingers curling around her wrists until they bite into her skin. “That’s not possible. _How_ is that possible?”

She laughs then, because what can she say? “Spoilers,” she opts out and his grip tightens even more – he will leave bruises. It wouldn’t be the first time, metaphorically speaking.

“I save you,” he breathes out with a grin, looking at her like a happy little boy. “I save you.”

“Excuse me, I could save myself you know, not _all_ Ponds sit around and wait for the Raggedy Doctor.” She glares at him and he grins, nodding and steeling himself.

“We go together,” he insists, peeking over the edge of the building and looking back at her. “I died like this once you know – not a pleasant experience, not looking forward to it.”

“Then _don’t_ ,” she insists, staring at him incredulously. “This is me – I’m the paradox, I can save us.”

“You go, I go,” he stands straighter, looking at her with hope in his eyes. Oh god – he thinks that they can reset time – that this will work. She knows it won’t – they’ll still come for her. “It’s called marriage, River.”

He looks so earnest as he says it – like it is a vow, and she knows it is to him. She swallows heavily, staring at him. She should stop now – she knows this could work. She doesn’t need to live through it – but some perverse part of her welcomes the chance to prepare. He needs her to be as strong as possible when it actually happens. “Together?” She breathes the word out, her fingers lacing with his as he smiles at her. She can hear her parents, yelling as they climb onto the roof from the fire escape.

“Together,” he nods, pulling her closer, his arms wrapping around her as they cling to each other and the world tilts on its axis.

She wakes up in the graveyard – it worked, it worked, it worked. He is pressing kisses across her face as he repeats the words, a grin on his face and his arms around her as he giggles in between kisses.

It worked, it worked, it worked – right up until the angel is behind her and horror crosses his face. “I love you,” she breathes out the words they try to never say right before she closes her eyes. She feels a shove, and she hits the ground and when she opens her eyes the Doctor is gripping her tightly, shock and horror on his face.

Her Mum is staring at the angel incredulously. “Rory? Where is he?! _Rory_ ,” she cries and River feels a sinking in her chest.

Of course not.

“Oh, Dad,” she clenches her hand around the Doctor’s and bows her head.

No matter what she changes, everything stays the same.

~*~*~*~

She doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, doesn’t do anything except try scenario after scenario. She meets them in New York, picnics with them as the Doctor and Amy argue about the existence of lines around her eyes, and she and Rory roll their eyes and stay out of it. When Rory asks if she wants coffee, River says _no_. Loudly.

But moments after that they can feel time alter and constrict around them as the city turns into a graveyard before their very eyes.

The Doctor, being the Doctor, investigates. River fights alongside him, but Angels in possession of unlimited power don’t send people back in time.

They kill them.

And this time, Rory doesn’t wake up, in a graveyard or anywhere else. And even though it is not real, it _feels_ real. Her mother’s sobs as she collapses over his body, how they cannot drag her away from him, the hollow look in the Doctor’s eyes – River exits the book, her arms wrapping around herself as she seeks comfort. The original story is the better option. “No deaths,” she vows. Because if these attempts have taught her anything, it is that the Doctor cannot take that.

~*~*~*~

Eventually, she stops.

She cannot think of one more way out of this nightmare of a novel – _nothing_ works. “Damn universe and its _balance_ ,” she mutters, scrubbing at her eyes like a small child. Every single alteration has ended in tragedy – or the same way the original story ends.

Eventually, she wonders…

Is it _such_ a bad ending? They will be together. They will live out their long lives – maybe get some dogs or adopt – they could be happy. Her father, she knows, would be content. And her mother – well Amy ten years ago might not be happy, but _now_ …

There is nothing in this world Amy loves so well as Rory. Not even her. Given the circumstances around her birth, she can’t really blame her mother for it.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be working on preventing it. I should figure out how to not make it forever.” Her eyes narrow and she nods to herself. A paradox that could tear New York apart – well, she always liked a challenge.

~*~*~*~

It takes her a while to figure it out.

Years pass as she works on the concept – dodging the paradox and slipping into the timestream – it’s entirely possible.

And the universe _clearly_ has a sick sense of humour, because it is while she is researching this problem that she stumbles across the solution to her own lodging issues. Of course she finds out how to get out because she found that damned book – her life is nothing if not an ouroboros. Ends and beginnings all tangled together – she is a fixed point, beginning and end, and a mess in between.

She can leave at any time – a transfer of data, a vortex manipulator, stored DNA, manipulating the time streams to accommodate her and powered by the paradox. But she hesitates.

If she leaves, it begins.

And she has no doubt that, with her luck, this will be the first thing that happens to her.

~*~*~*~

She leaves the console room, collapsing against the wall, her frame sinking into the support provided as she blinks back tears. She hears him jump up, run out the TARDIS doors, and she knows he is going to find that last page.

 _Of course it matters_.

His voice echoes in her ears as she packs a bag. After all, she has no idea when she will be back again. She knows he is too young now – he’d been so very old when he’d said goodbye at Trenzalore. He still needs time, and as much as she would like to nurse him through the grief, she feels rather disinclined to shove aside her own feelings.

She’s not sure how much time passes as she packs methodically. Not everything – he’ll notice that. Essentials. Things she hopes he doesn’t miss. Perhaps one day she’ll be able to return for the rest, but she doesn’t know. Not for sure.

Everything is unwritten now – blank pages ahead of her. She tries to be grateful for that, she does. It’s possibly one of the most difficult things she’s done in all her lives.

She is surprised to see him when she returns to the console room, bag over her shoulder. He is staring at the console, lost in his thoughts. “She said goodbye.” His voice is soft and she breathes out in a slow stream. “Told me to tell Amelia a story.”

“And did you?” her voice is husky and he looks up at her, nodding. His eyes land on the bag at her side and his face goes blank. She eases it from her shoulder and places it on the floor carefully.

“You’re leaving.”

“I have a book to write, don’t I?” She laughs bitterly – lord knows she could write the thing with her eyes closed at this point.

“I have a typewriter in the TARDIS you know. Somewhere – not sure but if not we could always go buy you one…” he trails off at the look on her face, the hope in his voice dying. “You can’t go.” He insists stubbornly and she smiles sadly.

“I have to – otherwise I’ll never leave.” She smiles reflexively as she speaks, but there is nothing happy about it at all. His hands over hers startles her, and she looks up to see him in front of her, his arms sliding up to cup her elbows as he presses as close to her as he can get. His eyes are bright with emotion as he looks at her intently.

“Then never leave,” he begs in a low voice and she swallows, dropping her head to his shoulder even as she is shaking it.

“I _can’t_ ,” she breathes the words out and he clutches at her desperately. His fingers dig into her upper arms as he attempts to pull her closer.

“Why?” he argues with her, and she looks up to see him scowling at her, his brow furrowed and his chin jutting out.  “Why not? We need this – _I_ need this. I need my wife, River. It’s called marriage, remember?” His voice is low and bitter and she feels her mouth tremble as she flounders for something to say to that. “Just for a little while,” he cajoles, his arms wrapping around her. “You and me, no diaries, no spoilers, just us. The universe _owes_ me at least that, River.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she protests softly and he sighs heavily, his frame tense. “Sweetie, I would love nothing more-”

“Prove it,” he challenges, lifting his head and looking down at her. “Make the hard choice and stay instead of running, River.”

The words sting and she laughs bitterly at the irony. “Choice words from _you_ , my love.”

“I’m not the one running,” he points out in a calm tone of voice and she looks up at him, arching a brow.

“You’re _always_ running. You could stand still and still be running.” He blinks in surprise, shaking his head as he looks at her with a hurt expression.

“But I want to run _with_ you-”

“I can’t!”  She snaps at him, pulling away and hugging herself tightly, as if she can protect herself from the pain of this. “I can’t – I can’t do this right now, Doctor. I need to grieve and-”

“We can do that together!” He insists, his voice growing desperate.

“No we _can’t_ ,” she finally yells back, her chest heaving as he blinks in shock. “ _You_ would grieve and I would bury everything because when we’re together sweetie, nothing is more important to me than _you_. You would grieve and I would take care of you.”

“Then let _me_ take care of you,” he shouts at her, darting forward and gripping her wrist. His fingers circle the delicate bone and she swallows, remembering the tingle of his energy caressing her skin. The _last_ of his regeneration energy, the idiot. Her anger rises further at the memory and she steals herself against his pleading gaze. “Just once stop _hiding_ everything from me and let me in, River.”

“I can’t,” all of her anger drains out of her as she whispers the words, looking at him with regret as tears sting her eyes.

“Why not?” Similarly, his voice is softer now, confusion clear in it as he peers down at her. And she hates to do it – she _hates_ to do it – but-

“Spoilers.” The word hangs in the air between them and he stares at her, his grip tightening.

“Why does this feel like – like goodbye. Like if I let you leave River, that’s it?” His voice is small and she sighs softly, sliding her arms up around his neck as she pushes herself flush against him.

“I am always with you, and I will always come back,” she speaks the words softly, and she knows that they are true. Somehow – she’s not sure when, but she will be back. She can’t just _leave_ him – she never could.

He nods, his arms wrapping around her as he buries his face in her neck, breathing deeply. “I’m sorry I lost them,” he apologises and she shushes him.

“It couldn’t have happened any other way,” she soothes him. “I know.” He looks up at that, sniffling a bit, as he shakes his head. She presses her hands up, cradling his face as she looks at him. “They’re together. And they’re happy.”

He swallows at that, nodding softly. “I’m jealous,” he finally admits and she looks at him, her expression soft.

“She loved you too, Doctor,” she assures him and he laughs, shaking his head as he glances at her helplessly.

“No, god River, you don’t understand. They’re together. They get to live their lives together, and all the way through to the end. And sometimes – I just _want_ … I don’t know. I want that. With _you_.”

“We’d be utter rubbish at it, darling,” she points out with a weak smile and he nods.

“Probably, but wouldn’t you like a go?” He shrugs, “Maybe I’d surprise you.”

“Constantly, my love.” She agrees with a smile, and she rises on her toes to press a kiss to his mouth. It starts out soft, gentle, and searching. Seeking reassurance and giving it freely, but as usual it is tinged with a touch of desperation – she’s not sure if it is more her or him, but their hands clutch at each other. When she pulls back she is out of breath and she can feel dampness on her cheeks – her tears and his. “I have to go.”

“Tomorrow,” he begs. “Just – give me until tomorrow.” He looks like a little boy and her heart aches at the sight. She doesn’t know when she will see him again – she doesn’t even know if it will ever happen, so she feels herself relent – weak as always when it comes to her husband.

“Alright,” she agrees and he hugs her tightly, his arms wrapping around her so tightly she can barely breathe.

~*~*~*~

She leaves before he wakes up – because she knows. It is a time machine and he would just make sure tomorrow never happened.

She stands in the doors and glances around sadly – not knowing if this would be the last time. The TARDIS hums soothingly in her mind and she sniffles, smiling softly. “I’ll be back,” she reassures herself aloud, her voice soft.

The TARDIS whirs in agreement, lights dimming as she closes the doors and steps out in to the unknown.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
